As The World Was Ending
by Fayr Warning
Summary: The title explains it all. AU
1. As the World was Ending

Disclaimer: I own nothing and already owe more than I have.

**As The World Was Ending**

The end of their world came quietly. Despite predictions made of hell on Earth and wanton destruction the end of the world came surprisingly orderly.

There were rumors of course, for even madmen gossip at the best of times. Because there was brilliance in plans carried to fruition; jagged and biting brilliance though it might be, and before it was over many would bleed because of it.

The end of the world came at the end of summer, the turning leaves marking the first hint of change upon the wind.

In an office that was never quite warm enough a worn Minister trailed listless fingers through now useless papers. It was an end of a time, he wistfully thought while knowing quite well he wasn't likely to see what lay next. He thought of his wife, sweet woman that she was, and he hoped the Auror meant to secret her out of the country had made it to France and wondered if that was even far enough. He thought of his father and hoped the old chap would save him a glass of whiskey in the afterlife however over fond he had been of the drink in life. He thought of his cat and hoped the ugly beast would survive on its own from now on. He thought of his creditor and smiled twistedly, galleon-pinching mincer could suck on a lemon for all he cared.

And down below the last of his guard fell, horribly silent and forever still.

The end of the world wasn't announced with a bang and clamor. Rather the end of the world was contained in the span of a second, the time it took for a wand to fall from lifeless fingers and strike the ground uselessly.

In a castle not so far away as some where known to say an old man made older by the day walked nightly through silent halls and knew soon enough what he'd held sacred since a boy would be profaned, sullied by rough touches and malicious minds. He was a man forged stronger from a hundred years of battle, made mythical by deeds and words, and broken when he discovered it was not enough to save all he held dear. It wasn't enough to die and bend, to betray what he was and break what others could be; wasn't enough in the end.

So he walked once more and knew the end of the world was walking near his door; politely arrogant, knowing it could not be denied and all the same sweeping his land gently, taking with it a world that would soon be forgotten.

And finally when he first saw the horrible shadows of crooked smiles and burning eyes, when he saw the specter of a boy never to be forgotten in the horizon he knew the end of the world had come.

And standing on a grassy plane he looked one last time at a castle that was more than a castle, saw more than a building that housed mortal hopes, and turning met ruby eyes that weren't quite human, weren't quite anything he was prepared to understand because in the end he was a man that fought and bleed and never learned what it meant to stab someone in the back. It wasn't treachery he could understand.

And they say the lucky ones died on that field though none that lost their life would ever quite see it that way.

And overlooking the last of her world a woman made stern and worn by a time paved in blood watched the last of her people fall silently. She was a mother without children, a teacher without students, and a warrior without an opponent. From the high window she saw the end of the world and it wasn't in her to forget and forgive. From an office that would never again belong to a wise old man that she loved so dearly she took a wand and in one word burned a book made all the more frightenly precious by the end of the world.

And in her hands she broke a never-ending quill, made the heart of a castle fall silent as the names of children disappeared in ashes. A quill that would never announce the birth of a magical child, never offer another redheaded Weasley to tempt the patience of tutors, never bring a Longbottom out of obscurity, or give a little Granger girl a hand when most needed, or know what an orphaned Potter could have been.

From a high window she drew the runes in blood, offered a life that was meant to protect as fiercely as a lioness would her cub. And as the world ended she hoped her sacrifice would save some of her could-have-been children, save some wide-eyed babes that would never know what her world could have given them.

And as the world ended, faltering blue eyes stared up a gleaming tower; saw the explosion rocket gravel and glass to unwary men and women, saw dust faintly bless his fallen companions. And as the world ended he said only one thing, "Thank you Minerva."

And as the world ended a man made more than mortal by deeds not to be spoken of walked up distantly familiar steps; bloody footprints trailing his wake. As the world ended he opened the castle doors and said only once, "I'm home."

But for some it wasn't quite clear the world was ending. You see it was largely a secret in some rather large circles that the world could end so horribly orderly. For those in the town of Surrey the world ending wasn't in any way part of any plan. They were of course rightly concerned when horrible stories drifted from neighbor to neighbor, unnatural tales never before made real.

It couldn't be true, you see. It wasn't possible because children tales weren't supposed to be corporal, weren't supposed to tear your door down, weren't supposed to make you hurt and bleed and cry and pray to useless deities. Because it wasn't supposed to be like this; life wasn't supposed to slap you and kick you and curse you and torture you. And as the world ended all you would really ask was, "Why?"

And cowering besides a burning car, a woman turned from what was left of her husband, her son pressed to her side and her nephew clutched closely. And she remembered a gentle girl who was once baby and best-friend and sister and stranger but couldn't help but be dead. And her nephew who carried her eyes twisted in her grasp, too small hands now grasping her neck and the top of his cousin's head and at once he screamed, "Leave us alone! Go 'way!"

And as the world was ending he got his wish for the woman laughing not quite right blinked once, frowned in confusion before walking away unsteadily. And as the world was ending the woman got to live, was given another chance to ensure the legacy of another world lived to see this one. Because she was a practical woman, one not given to hopes and dreams and she rightly recognized the world was ending that day, might have already ended for all she knew.

So she hugged her two children close to her and whispered only once, "It'll be all right."

And the boy, solemn eyes having seen much death and destruction in the tattered minutes they'd been given to escape as far way as they could before the madwoman had overtaken them took her hand and said, "Uncle Vernon said we have to leave England."

And looking one last time at the burning cars that littered the street she took one child in each hand and began walking. She didn't know how far she would have to go or what she would do but all she knew was that if the world was indeed ending she would make sure her son and nephew survived to see the next.

Because the world had ended in an office in England; had ended on a field in Scotland, and it wasn't long before the world ended for the United Kingdom. The Isles who had once belonged to Queens and Kings, Lord Protectors and Druids, now were given to a man, whose arrogance wasn't arrogance because all that he promised had indeed come true.

Because the world ended, a baffled Seer having uttered words to no one that might hear, a man and woman having fought and died, another man and woman having gained a much younger nephew, weeks old and unblemished, when his parents were young and stupid enough to believe there wouldn't be consequences.

And some figured the world ending were consequences of deeds buried in a land closed and ruled by a powerful man. Because the Isles belonged to him now, were his to take as the world was ending.

And standing upon a rickety boat, overcrowded and rank with unwashed flesh, a woman held her two boys close, and wondered what the new world would offer.

Because after all, it was a new world.


	2. Sometimes she worries

AN: 2 reviews out of some 300ish hits? How unfair.

**_S_**he worries sometimes.

Worries about where the next meal will come from; worries about heat in winter and lice when the family they share a flat with comes down with them. She worries about having respectable clothes and shoes that don't pinch her feet on her way to work.

When they're in France for six months and her nephew spends his days chatting in French with the old woman next door she worries he'll forget he's an English boy. She hasn't enough time to dedicate to that particular worry though it comes up again when they spend eight months in Germany and again when they're in Poland.

She worries her son won't remember his father and stops herself when she can't recall the color of his eyes. She worries he doesn't laugh enough and spends too much time trying to forget what happened.

She worries her boys spend too much time alone and not enough with other children. She worries the first time she hears the cruel taunts; '_Floating bits'_ and '_Britshit_' are some of the first things scowling women and dour men flay them with.

She worries the she no longer has a reason to hold her head high. She worries when she doesn't dare enter into a French café for fearing she'd be asked to leave. She worries when she flounders like an illiterate commoner in tongues her English childhood never prepared her for.

She worries that the worse hasn't come to pass already. She worries she can't handle anymore.

She worries when the Headmaster calls her to tell her the boys have been fighting again. But she figures English boys have nothing but fight left in them so she doesn't worry as much as she should.

Sometimes she wakes at night, heart pounding and lungs burning; mind so certain the boat left her. She worries most of all because her's was the last boat that made it out of the Isles. She still remembers the chilled dock, huddled and scared as harried officials processed names. She remembers looking back and waiting and waiting for dark waters to reveal more refuge boats and finally admitting none where coming. She remembers a tiny tug, her nephew's pale lips leaning near her ear for even back then he knew how dangerous it was to talk of strange things, "They can't come."

And she remembers the overflowing docks on British soil and wonders what happened to all those crying people. And sometimes she still dreams of desperate cries and hysterical pleading, "Please! Don't leave me behind!"

She worries she's all the boys have now and she worries she isn't enough. She's never had to stand on her own, never had to fight for her little piece of life. Her parents gave her to her husband, her husband gave her his son but now she has _her _sister's son and _her_ own son to content with and she worries they'll realize one day she wasn't enough.

She worries when she can't remember what color the little house on Privet Drive used to be. She worries when she can't recall what prize-winning roses had to do with life.

Sometimes she worries. Other times she's laughing and smiling and screaming and looking and smelling and seeing because the world ended on a normal day and they're entirely too few normal days in her future not to enjoy them while she can.

Sometimes she worries…but that isn't enough.

Worries sometimes come…but that can't be all.

And in her heart two boys live because sometimes that's all she has.


	3. Third

**AN**: _In case it's unclear the United Kingdom and Ireland—now known as the Isles—will be unilaterally overthrown._

**Third**

He was supposed to be someone, you see. He was supposed to stand out, look up only to see everyone looking at him. He was supposed to finally be one of a kind.

One more year, he used to hum to himself, one more year before the letter would come. The 'Letter' that would change everything; would finally prove him to be special.

He supposed they thought it would be great fun. A house full of children, a table full of laughs. Like his Nana used to whisper, "No shadows here."

There was the First one, stout and strong; the Second was wild and rebellious—polar opposites their mother used to think. It isn't fun being Third—there isn't a place not already taken. Fourth was supposed to even it out except even back then Fourth was _trouble_ and trouble picked Fifth to play. Sixth was as ill-fated as Third but now he was too old; too old to make babble talk as First and Second played pirates and Fourth and Fifth plotted against everyone else. And then Seventh came but Seventh was still more special than the rest because it was the only one to be called, "Daughter."

There was love and there were laughs but didn't they know it was no fun being the odd one out? And they played; One and Two together because they were older and Four and Five wouldn't be anywhere else but with the other but that meant Six was too little and Seven was too precious. So what fun was it being the one always left behind?

He wasn't trouble and he wasn't daring and in a house full of too many bodies there wasn't a point of being smart when all that got you was left behind.

And the more you smiled and the more you did what you were told and the more you stayed out of trouble…well, the easier it was to forget you. They used to say, "What a sweet boy."

It was nice; nice to be noticed.

And then they'd say, "My dear, what brilliant child—so mischievous, such a leader, so charismatic. A charmer if I ever saw one."  
And what did it get you but left behind?

So he was old enough to know love could hurt you when it didn't ever mean to and young enough to think there wasn't more to it.

And although he was so used to being left behind he didn't quite believe it the day it happened _for real_.

Mummy and Daddy, you see, used to whisper about things they didn't want smart boys like him knowing. About war and fighting and dark things—things they never wanted little boys to know. But even that wasn't enough to prepare them for the day the world ended. For even though they knew why the world was ending, knew the names of the bad men who would take bad boys away—it wasn't enough, you see.

And they fought where only smart boys could hear…if smart boys did indeed want to hear.

_Not now. Too soon. Home. Arthur! Arthur! Family and brothers and honor and war._

_Molly, M_olly, a whispered sigh. _Family and sons and a daughter and future and war._

But despite all the talking and planning the day still came as a fumbling shock.

"Everyone's leaving." Daddy pleaded.

"Wait, wait," Mummy would murmur. "The boys' books—mustn't forget. Uncle Rodney's pipe—old dear wouldn't want that."

"Not enough time, not enough time." Daddy's voice would sometimes drift through drippy pipes.

And then when the day came…

"I got a portkey before the Ministry fell." Words tumbled quickly, bouncing from nerve to nerve.

And Mummy, Mummy knew what to do. "Floo the Longbottoms and the Lovegoods and Hestia and Wendell and as many as you can. There isn't time to wait."

And a house that had quite enough bodies only got more. Of giggling children that didn't understand and crying babies that knew without knowing; of hovering adults and anxious hands.

So they gathered round and round; sticky hands and sharp elbows flapping alongside. And children that never quite liked him giggled around him, "I'll dare you to be last."

Careless words and thoughtless acts made him say, "I'll do it."

"Nuh-uh. I'll do it." Said another smelling of peanut butter.

Overhead Daddy said, "Five…four…three…"

And he looking up; thought they were calling him.

"…Two…"

And hands were reaching, fingers straining to grasp.

_Too late, too late, so sorry_.

"Come back! Come back! Mummy! Daddy! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! So sorry! Come back! Just come back…"

And Mummy and Daddy would never leave him, you see. Even if the family clock said 'Traveling'. They would never leave him behind.

So he waited because they would be back. And waited some more.

I'll be good; never speak badly about Four and Five or make Six cry. Never hide peas under the napkin or leave dirty trainers on the carpet. Never run up the stairs or feed jam to Seven. Come back and I'll be the best. Come back and I'll weed the garden without more than a say so. Come back and I'll take a bath every night without making the rug a soggy mess. Come back and I'll give you the silver cap he found two years ago in the field and made Two cry when he tried to take it away.

So he waited and waited and happened to be there the day the clock shifted and finally said 'Home'.

And what did it get you but left behind?


End file.
